


Heart Heart Head

by DarethShiralAsaara (PSIDontKnow)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Child Inquisitor, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Modern kid in Thedas but not really, More characters to be added as they appear - Freeform, Selectively Mute Character, Unreliable Narrator, Whatcha got there? ... A smoothie, Why does Solas exude Dad vibes, casual misgendering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2019-10-30 01:21:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17819129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PSIDontKnow/pseuds/DarethShiralAsaara
Summary: Curiosity, A willingness to help, and a stubborn streak as large as Thedas. These are all the ingredients Andraste had apparently added to create this child before dropping them in the middle of the Temple of Sacred Ashes wreckage. She hadn't used near enough, the child barely came up to Varric's shoulders and was too small by far. Still, they were willing to help save the world, and that's what must be asked of them





	1. Chapter One - Synth

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warnings for some Casual Misgendering throughout the fic, due to miscommunication issues. The main character is Nonbinary, but nearly everyone else thinks they're a boy, and they just... don't want to argue. Beyond that, this is gonna have some weirdness to it, because I'm trying to write this from a 3rd person limited perspective, and they see the world in a strange way to most people.
> 
> A big thank you to smolpandabean and their Kid Inquisitor fic The Youngest Trevelyan for inspiring this and giving me a small encouraging comment that has turned into about 30 pages of fic far too fast.

     They’re… confused. That’s the only word they can think of for their current feelings that feel like a swirling pot of pressure and teal, congealing in their chest in a sticky mess. Their head throbs something fierce, green light still flashing behind their eyes when they close them. They don’t focus on that for now, instead focusing on the way the floor is cold through their leggings, trying to take deep breaths like Ari had once taught them. They’d been moved, they remember that, kind of, though they were more asleep than not, but the remembering quickly leaves them as their hand briefly flashes with light, pain lancing up their arm. They’ve never done that before, it feels weird, like something is trying to pull all the little bits of their arm out through their palm. It takes effort to in the stocks that rub their wrists raw, but they turn their hand over, looking at the way there’s new lines that trace over their palm before it lights up again.

     This time, they can’t stop the squeak of pain that comes from them, and it alerts whoever is outside of the room - dungeon, they can accept that that’s what it seems to be. The door slams open, and they immediately hunch their shoulders, looking down at their lap where their hands are curled into little fists. They hear the sound of metal scraping on metal and realize that they’d been being  _ watched and hadn’t realized it _ . They don’t get time to dwell on that though as the two newcomers come to them. A dark haired woman, her face severe and her armor shining in the low light circles around them, and they duck their head further down, enough that they barely see the toes of the other woman’s boots in front of them.

     “I want to believe that a child alone couldn’t do all of this destruction. Tell me who you work for and we won’t kill you now.” The voice is accented, and they think vaguely that it sounds like Evie had once described chocolate before she continues. “The Conclave is destroyed, everyone who attended is dead… Except for you.” They look up as she comes around to their front again, big grey eyes wide. They’d done nothing like that, they hadn’t killed anyone for sure. They’d been with Ari, and then - and then - 

     They obviously had taken too long too answer, the woman with dark hair and a chocolate sounding voice grabbing their wrist, tugging it above their head with a too tight grip and a growl.

     “Explain  _ this. _ ” It flares green again, and they don’t know how that happened, how the people that she’s missing died, and can only shake their head, fluffy hair flying around their face. 

     “You won’t?” They shake their head again, opening and closing their mouth with no words coming out and desperately try to turn to catch the woman’s eyes, mouthing ‘ _ I can’t _ ’ at her.

     “You’d rather protect a murderer than your own life?” The other woman finally speaks up, sharp eyes staring at them, making them duck their head as they shake ‘no’ again. Her voice sounds like Mint and Snow, and they look back up at her to try and speak. It doesn’t work, the words won’t come up out of their throat, but they can at least mouth ‘ _ I don’t know _ ’ to her. The armored woman groans and lets their arm go, even as her red haired companion crouches down in front of them, a strange smile quirking her lips.

     “You cannot speak?” It’s not entirely the truth, but it’s easier to nod their head in agreement then to try to explain that words get stuck in their chest and won’t come out through their mouth more often than not.

     “Do you remember what happened?” She’s softened her voice a tad, and their eyes drift to the blue of her shawl, their own hands trying to drift to clutch their scarf before realizing that it’s no longer there. Panic rises in them, fizzling over as their hands flutter at their bare collarbones.

     ‘ _ My scarf? _ ’ They try to mouth the words as clearly as they can, relieved when she understands.

     “It is safe, I’ll return it to you if you answer my questions.” They nod again, taking a deep breath before shaping out the words, trying to make it as clear as they can.

     ‘ _ Green, running. A woman, falling. _ ’ They lift their shoulders in a shrug, hands still curled against their collarbones, and the redheaded woman nods. She doesn’t get a chance to say anything else before the dark haired woman has clapped a hand on her shoulder.

     “We don’t have time for this. Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take him to the rift.” Her voice is stern, and she waits until the red head - Leliana? - rises and leaves before she kneels down to undo the stocks around their wrists. They stare at her, hoping to communicate their curiosity to her without words or her looking at their face to see what they’re trying to say. A gloved hand, gently tugging at their arm helps them to stand, and they have to look up to her even when standing, and it makes something crease between her eyebrows to look at them now.

     “You really don’t remember what happened?” They shake their head again, and she sighs, moving her hand from their arm to their shoulder, guiding them from the dungeon.

     “It will be easier to show you.”

 

     The outside light stings their eyes after so long in the dark, and they raise a hand to shield their eyes for a moment, letting them adjust. It only takes a few blinks before they realize the strange green tint to the world, slowly lowering their hand to stare wide eyed at the wound in the sky.

     “We call it ‘The Breach.’ It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour.” The woman’s voice is steady still, her hand warm firm on their shoulder as she explains. “It’s not the only such rift, just the largest.  _ All  _ were caused by the explosion at the conclave. The one you alone survived.” They wince at the reminder that they’d lived when many others hadn’t, ducking their chin to let their hair cover their eyes, wishing that they still had their scarf to hide in, to protect them.

     “Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world.” They have to blink away tears from their eyes, trying not to imagine the great wound in the sky covering everything in that poison green. As if summoned by the image, their hand begins to glow that same sickly green, pain tearing through them. Knees buckling, they find themself into the snow, biting their lip to stop any noises they would have made. The woman is quickly in front of them, a gentle hand on their arm again, helping them back up.

     “Each time the Breach expands, your mark grows … And it is killing you.” She looks almost sad as she says this, idly brushing hair back from their face, and they’re painfully reminded of Ari, telling them that they must go, that they have to leave.

     “It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.” Her voice sounds like an apology without the words, and they find themself giving her a short nod, leaning against her side for a moment. Even if they can’t be of much use, they can try to help at least. Even if they die, if they help, it’ll be worth it. Her hand shifts to their back, gently leading them down stairs, through tents. People milling about, harsh words under breaths, and they can feel the poison stares on them.

     “The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia, Head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers, and they believe that you have something to do with it’s destruction, as it’s only survivor. It was a chance for peace between mages and Templars. She brought their leaders together, and now, they are dead.” Her voice sounds like sour candies Evie had once given them and they want to make that stop. They don’t think they can though, a lot of people died, and she was probably close to some of them.

     “We lash out, like the sky, but we must think beyond ourselves. As she did. Until the breach is sealed” They nod at her, though they’re sure she can’t see it as she gestures for the other soldiers to open the great wooden doors at the end of the path. She turns to them, once on the snowy bridge, and stares with dark eyes.

     “There will be a trial, I can promise no more.” They nod at this too, because it’s fair, a trial to see if they’re guilty for surviving, though they already feel like it. She stares at them a moment longer before her hand returns to their shoulder, guiding them forwards. 

     “Come, it it not far.”

 

     There’s - words, explanations, it’s all begun to swirl around their head, too much for them to understand anymore for now. A sponge that’s full of water trying to soak up more, that’s all they are, but they try not to show it. Their hand erupts into pain again, this time drawing a small sound of pain from them, and she pushes them on forwards, only letting them catch their breath. It’s important, that she get them to where she’s taking them, and they keep going, clenching and unclenching their hand, trying to shake the tingles from it. She talks more, something about a temple, about others seeing the Green Lady behind them, but they just can’t absorb it, it’s about all they can do to follow along with her, trying not to trip in the snow in the little shoes that their boots had been replaced with. They miss their boots, their scarf, their coat, instead of these scratchy clothes that aren’t theirs, walking through this snow that isn’t theirs, with a woman who isn’t smokey sharp like Evie or soft and warm like Ari.

     The poison green flashes again, breaking the bridge out from under the both of them, rocks and bits of stone cutting into them as they fall. The world spins, dizzying, and they barely make out the knight woman yelling for them to stay behind her over the sound of a gurgling roar and the rush of blood in their ears. The ice is cold under their hands and they focus on that as they push themself up, until the notice the green creeping across the ground in front of them, something in their heart screaming ‘DANGER DANGER, INCOMING.’ It’s been - a long time since they used a weapon, but they frantically back up from the growing glow, grey eyes looking around until they find a broken dagger, the blade snapped at the tip, hilt missing most way. It works though, well enough that they scramble to their feet with it, holding it in front of themself like a sword as the green grows into a monster.

     It’s huge and gross, swiping at them with giant claws that they barely dodge, uselessly slashing at the monster with their blade. It hits them, hard enough to send their head ringing again, but they grab onto it’s arm, being pulled up and leaping down on top of it, driving their blade through the thing’s vaguely head shaped area. It releases a terrible shriek before fading into a sickly green glow, motes of light floating away. Where to, they don’t see, falling to the ground again and laying there, trying to regain the air that had been knocked out of them. They stay there, shaking and clutching the broken dagger to their chest until there’s a hand on their back.

     “Are alright?” The Knight is back, blood that’s probably not hers splattered on the ice. Her eyes flick to the blade in their hand, becoming hard as she takes it from them and tosses it to the side. “You are a child, you do not need to fight. I … apologize for not keeping a closer eye on you.” They shake their head as they push themself up on the ice, hands and knees cold against the ice in a way that makes their joints ache and their head clear. They tap on her chest plate with the tip of a nail, twice, to make sure they have her attention, before flashing her a thumbs up. She did okay, it’s not her fault, and that’s what they’re trying to say, but it doesn’t seem to make her feel better if they’re reading her face right. She helps them to their feet, before pulling another dagger out of her boot, presenting it to them hilt first.

     “I will do my best to protect you, but if I cannot, you do not need to be defenseless.” They gingerly take it with both hands, nodding at her as they tuck it into the belt wrapped around their shirt and receiving one in turn. She hands them a small pouch as well before she continues leading them further.

     “Take these potions, you may need them...Actually, take one now, you are looking worse for wear.”

 

     They make it to the small rift ahead, the knight telling them to take cover before she darts into battle. They try to, but the creatures, the ones that come from the green, they don’t want to leave the soldiers to them. It’s easy enough to dart between them, they’re small and fast, uncapping potions as they go and handing them to soldiers that look like they need them, gifted dagger clutched in their unmarked left hand. The closer they get to the rift, the more it smells like sparks and bad memories, but they can’t focus on it, not when the last death rattle of the monsters is ringing behind them and there’s a hand darting to their wrist, lifting it towards the crack. The words that accompany the hand is drowned out of their memory by the strange feeling that follows, power arcing from their hand to the wound, stitching it closed. It explodes like a firework, small green sparks sizzling and then going out in the snow, that hand around their wrist finally loosening. They stare for a moment at their hand, the new marks etched into the skin before looking to the man that had grabbed their wrist.

     He’s taller than them, as so many adults are, but his ears are pointed, and they’re reminded of a lamp in Ari’s park with the way the light bounces off his head. They want to know what that was, want to ask what he did, but all that comes from them isn’t words, but a high pitched noise. He arches a brow, crouching down in front of them with a strange smile, almost sad but tickled at the same time.

     “Yes?” They bounce on their toes a little, mouthing as clearly as they can ‘ _ How did you do that? _ ’

     “I did nothing, the credit is all yours.” They look between him, before raising up their marked hand, pointing to it with the other. He nods, before standing so that the others could hear him as well.

     “Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized that the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake - and it seemed I was correct.”

     “Meaning it could also close the Breach itself.”

     “Possibly. It seems you hold the key to our Salvation.”

     “Good to know! Here I thought we’d be ass deep in demons forever.” They turn to look at the other man, not dressed like the soldiers or the lady knight or even the pointy eared man, but like someone who had time to kill. They want to ask if he’s cold with his shirt open like that, or if all the chest hair keeps him warm. They also want to ask if he’s done growing or if he managed to cheat the system and get a fuzzy face before that. He’s not much taller than them, something they can judge better as he comes to stand next to them, giving them a smile as he talks.

     “Varric Thethras. Rogue, Storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong.” He looks at the Lady Knight as he says this, shooting her a wink that makes them huff out a little laugh. They hold out a hand, smiling when Varric shakes it (and isn’t that strange! His hands are so much bigger than theirs, he must be done growing!) before they turn back to the woman. 

     “So what now, Seeker?”

     “Now we go to meet Leliana.”

     “What a great idea!” 

     “Absolutely not.” She immediately shuts Varric down, moving to stand in front of him with a stern pose and sterner face. “Your help is appreciated Varric, but - ”

     “Have you been in the valley lately? Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore, you need me. ‘Sides, pretty sure that more hands to watch the little guy would be appreciated.” She doesn’t argue further, making a disgusted noise and turning on her heel to walk a few steps away instead. They turn to follow her before the taller man speaks again, stopping them short.

     “My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live.”

     “He means ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.’” Varric seems pleased to bring attention to this feat, and they don’t fail to notice the pleased look on Solas’s face, even as they tug on his pant leg to bring his attention to them, mouthing ‘ _ Thank you _ ’ with as much clarity as they can.

     “You are most welcome, Little One.” He turns his attention away from them again, back to the knight.

     “Cassandra, you should know: The magic involved here is unlike any I have seen. Your ‘Prisoner’ is no mage. Indeed I find it difficult to imagine any mage having such power.” None of them seem to notice the way the child suddenly shifts nervously at the mention of mages, instead paying attention as Cassandra rallies them on. It takes some help for them to make it over some debris, Cassandra eventually having to pick them up over it instead of waiting for them to be able to scramble over it themself.

     “So, Seeker, does your new package not speak or are they just shy?” Varric teases as she walks with them tucked under an arm. She quickly places them back down on more even ground, huffing at the man’s teasing.

     “He claims to not speak, and I truly have not yet heard an understandable word from him yet.” They wish they knew what she meant by understandable, but are quickly distracted by a hand clapping them on the back.

     “That’s a shame, I’d wanted to know if they had a name or not. I mean, of course they do, even Bianca has a name, but I wanted to be able to write them in as something other than ‘Half Pint the otherwordly child savior.’” Cassandra huffs again, continuing to march as Solas chimes in.

     “I too find myself curious. Do you write?” They nod. “Wonderful, once we return to Haven, we could procure you implements to do so, so you’re not without a way to communicate.” Solas and Varric talk amongst themselves as they walk as they think about it. They want to know their name? It’s been a long time since anyone had, even them, and they have to think on what to tell them,  _ how  _ to tell them. Grey eyes finally fall upon Solas’s hands, bare to the cold unlike Cassandra and Varric’s, and they tug on the one that’s not gripping tight to his walking stick.

     “Yes?”

     “Keep up!” Cassandra calls from ahead of them on the stairs, Varric calling back to her as they pull his hand close to them, placing one of their own on their chest before tracing a shape on his hand. A line, a curve, and then pointing at themself again before repeating it. Solas’s eyebrows furrow as he watches them do this, Varric ahead watching them while still yelling to a stalled Cassandra.

     “D?” They nod enthusiastically. “That is your name, simply the letter D?” They nod again, letting go of his hand to let both hands flutter near their collarbones, where their scarf should sit. Varric laughs as he overhears them, grinning broadly.

     “I like it! Nice and simple, easy to spell too!” Surrounded by snow and corpses and forced lightness, D smiles softly back.

 

     It had taken a while to get to the forward camp, D hiding behind a rock or Solas when they ran into more demons, holding their own hand to the Rift and letting the power ripple through them as it was closed. They had their own little protection around them, even as their eyes were already drooping, tired from cold and excitement, they watched Cassandra reunite with Leliana. The man in the robes isn’t at all excited to see them, sneering at them as they try and hide behind Cassandra’s bulk.

     “As grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution.” Their face blanches at the word, a hand grabbing at Cassandra’s sleeve as if to physically remind her of her promise that they would at least receive a trial. She keeps that arm near them, stepping forward to sneer at the Chancellor, gesturing with her other hand.

     “Order  _ me? _ You are a glorified clerk, a bureaucrat!”

     “And you are a thug, but a thug who supposedly serves the Chantry.” Leliana steps between him and Cassandra, her words sharp to D’s ears.

     “We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor, as you well know. She would not want a child put to death.”

     “Justinia is  _ dead! _ We must elect a replacement and obey  _ her  _ orders on that matter!” He turns his eyes back to them, to their hand faintly glowing that poison green and clutching at Cassandra.

     “It shouldn’t even be here. Call a retreat, Seeker. Our position here is hopeless.” Cassandra steps out of their grip then, leaning on the table between her and Roderick, her voice and posture both offering no argument.

     “We can stop this before it’s too late.”

     “How? You won’t survive long enough to reach the temple. Even with all your soldiers.” Those three, all working for this Chantry, continue to talk, to argue, as D moves back to stand with Varric, Solas even further back. They let the words wash over them, restlessly knotting their hands in the ends of their shirt. They have a duty now, they can close the rifts, save more people, and they don’t notice that the attention has shifted to them until they are shaking at the pain arcing up their arm once again, the Breach rumbling in time with the ache. Cassandra crouches down, to look into their eyes, and asks:

     “How do you think we should proceed?” Her voice is still hard, but not mean, and they hope that their confusion shines through well enough as they look around at the adults around them, then to the mark on their hand. They’re a kid, a dumb one at that, but these people are trusting them with their lives because they stumbled into some sort of weird sky stitching mark on their hand. They can’t betray that trust, and take a deep breath to calm themself before pointing out to the mountain. There’s people there to save, and they can’t just leave them there. They’re trembling from the weight of the decision, Varric saying something next to them that they’re just too full of everything to understand, until there’s a tugging around their neck.

     “I do not break my promises.” Leliana smiles, wrapping their scarf around them before leaving to do her duty. They immediately bury their face and hands in the soft blue fabric, relieved by its presence and uncaring for a moment that it probably seems weird for them to be so attached to it. They don’t care though, there’s something in it that makes it feel better, whether the texture, the fact it was Ari’s gift to them, or the charm put on it to protect them, it brings them peace.

 

     The mountain path is cold and hard, the bitter wind robbing all of them of what breath they’d use for idle chatter. D is gasping hard by time they make it to the end, shaking as they close yet another Rift and leaning against Solas’s leg when the man comes up next to them. The man seems startled at first before he takes it in stride, a hand idly resting upon their curls.

     “Sealed, as before. You are becoming quite proficient at this.”

     “Let’s hope it works on the big one.” Varric calls to them from a little ways away as they watch Cassandra help out the Lieutenant, pointing to them when she’s thanked.

     “The prisoner?” The Lieutenant’s face is hidden behind her helmet, but even D can hear the confusion in her voice at being faced with the prisoner that had survived a massacre saving her. Cassandra explains where they’re going, sends her on her way, before their band continues on to this temple. D follows along as best they can, listening as Varric asks about the hole in the Fade (the Breach?) and they file it away for later, especially the familiarity of it all. They’re running out of energy as they reach the temple, nearly running into Cassandra in their blind mission of continuing on.

     “Cassandra?”

     “One of you two, cover his eyes. He may be a prisoner, but a child doesn’t need to see what the temple looks like.” Her voice is troubled, and D blinks slowly at her, trying to parse out what she means until Solas lifts them. They startle for a moment until he speaks again, hand pressing their head into his shoulder.

     “Shield your eyes, Little One. I will take you through so you do not trip.” They nod, tossing an arm around the man’s shoulders and burying their face into his shoulder. It’s easy to tune out the talking, the wretched smell that nearly overpowers the smell of forest that clings to Solas, and doze with the motion of him walking. It doesn’t last nearly long enough, D being roused as they’re placed down, green glow taking over their sight. The Breach is so much larger up close, and they’re filled with a disbelief that they’re supposed to stitch that shut when the smaller ones have taken so much out of them. They’re trying to figure out how to maybe get closer, how to fix this, when Leliana shows up, speaking hurriedly with Cassandra. It isn’t until the Seeker places her hand on their shoulder that they return their attention to her.

     “This is your chance to end this, are you ready?” The nod, clutching at their scarf for support, and Solas chimes in with the next bit.

     “This Rift was the first. Seal it, and perhaps you seal the Breach.” They climb down carefully, keeping an ear out as Varric talks with Cassandra about something called Red Lyrium. They don’t realize that it’s the pretty red stones around them until Varric grabs their wrist to stop them from touching it.

     “It’s Evil. Whatever you do, don’t touch it.” As if summoned by the word ‘Evil’ a deep voice begins to echo around them, sending the rest looking for the source. The source is the Rift, a chill creeping up D’s spine as they listen.

_      “Keep the sacrifice still.” _

_      “Someone help me!” _

_      “Ma’am?”  _ They startle at the third voice, stepping closer.

     “That’s...me?” They don’t realize the words have actually left them until Cassandra is rounding on them, fury in her eyes.

     “That was your voice? You said you couldn’t speak! Most Holy called out to you, but...” The Rift and their mark sparks brighter, the light coming together to form an image. A woman in the same red and white robes as the Chancellor but with a fancy hat, a shadow monster looming over her. D watches this in shock, startling as an image of them appears, as they should be, with their own clothes, with their scarf hiding half their face.

     “ _ Ma’am? _ ”

     “ _ Run while you can, warn them! _ ” The shadowy figure turns, looking at past D, but they can’t help but feel like he’s talking to them now as well.

     “ _ We have an intruder. Slay the child. _ ” 

     “You were there!” Cassandra is grasping at their shoulders, either ignoring or not noticing how they wince when she squeezes too hard. “Who attacked? And the Divine, is she…? Was this vision true? What were we seeing? Speak! I know you can!” They want to cry at how quickly she’s turned on them, anger sparking in her eyes, and the knife she’d given them burns where it’s tucked into their belt. All they can do is shake their head frantically, mouthing ‘ _ I don’t know! _ ’ desperately.

     “Echoes of what happened here...The Fade bleeds into this place.” Solas’s words drag her attention away from them, he explains, more words, more things to do, but they’re too tired to process this anymore, not with any level of higher thinking. They’re shutting down, trying to prevent crying at Cassandra’s sudden turn on them, crying because it was their fault that Miss Holy died, that they couldn’t help then, but can now. It’s a task, one to complete, and attempting to follow orders is something they can do in their sleep. There’s yelling, fighting, a bright flash of light. Pain, pain, too much power, ripping their body apart again.

          There’s silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, tell me what you think!
> 
> Also, if you're curious about D "mentioning" Ari and Evie, it will be explained later. This is supposed to be their POV and you don't really think in exposition when you think about people you love and things that remind you of them, do you? Beyond that.... Some of you might recognize D, because this is INCREDIBLY self indulgent, but what's the gosh darned point of having a character displaced in reality who, in their own canon, gets kicked into places with "Immense amounts of magical energy and strife" 
> 
> If yall would like a better mental image of D, an older ref of them is [ here ](https://twitter.com/PSIDontKnow/status/952359377385807873), though they're in their pregame coat with their post game everything else, at least they will be when their coat and boots are given back


	2. Unknowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wake up, have a mild panic attack, be threatened, just a normal day

     They realize that everything aches before they even open their eyes. Their joints and muscles all protest even the thought of movement, but they can hear someone in the room with them, and they don’t want to risk being caught unawares. D lolls their head to the side, staring at the girl who was in the room with them. She startles, dropping her box on the floor when she notices them, a small cry escaping her.

     “I didn’t know you were awake, I swear!” Her voice is small, scared and hiding, and they sit up slowly, holding their hands up in front of them. They want her to know they won’t hurt her, they don’t even think they can, but she practically collapses to the ground, kneeling and stammering out something. They don’t get it, why is she on the floor? They’re off the bed on shakey legs, kneeling before her and placing a hand on her shoulder. She gasps, stammering as she looks up into their face.

     “You - I - ” She leans back away from them, scrambling to her feet, “I’m certain Lady Cassandra would want to know you’ve awakened. She said ‘At Once.’” They stay on the floor, looking up at her, still confused. Why would Cassandra want to know they’re awake, why is this girl scared of them, where even are they? Some of their confusion must show on their face, because the girl pauses in her stammering, pressing her hands against her chest, taking a deep breath before she speaks again.

     “She’s - she’s in the Chantry, if you want to find her yourself.” The girl whispers the words, as if afraid she’d be in trouble for them, before she darts out the door. D is still kneeling on the floor, looking around the room they’d woken up in now that they’re alone. It’s unfamiliar, and they take solace in the fact that their scarf is still wrapped around their shoulders, though they’re still wearing unfamiliar clothing. There’s nothing better to do for now than to look around, and they take their time, idly plucking at the weird guitar, looking at the books in the room, sticking their toes close enough to the fire that they begin to hurt from all the warmth. There’s a letter on the desk that interests them.

_           Day Three _

_                Less Thrashing. Some response to Stimulus, Vitals seem Solid.  _

_                Two attempts by locals to break into the Chantry to kill my patient. _

_                All this work to save his life and they’ll just execute this kid? Seems like a loss _

_                Will Inform Lady Cassandra I expect him to wake before the morn. _

     Was this about them? Had people been trying to kill them? The paper creases in their grip as they remember the eyes of the people in those tents before, everyone looking at them, blaming them. Why shouldn’t they? D doesn’t know how they got here, what a Chantry is, what the Conclave was, they don’t know anything beyond the four walls they were raised behind and the cold comfort of Ari’s home. They clutch the paper tighter, not noticing when tears drip from their face and smudge along the paper, ruining the words. They’re not supposed to be here, they’re not supposed to be  _ anywhere. _ They just want to go back to Evie’s garden, to hiding under Ari’s cloak, to being someplace quiet where there wasn’t so many eyes mocking them, calling them a broken little thing - 

     There’s a soft knock at the door, and they hastily wipe at their face, trying to get rid of any evidence of them crying. It doesn’t work, they can feel the way their eyes are still puffy and sticky when the same girl from before pokes her head in timidly. They lock eyes for a moment before she drops her head.

     “Lady Cassandra requested me to bring you to her, Ser.” D nods, though they’re pretty sure that she can’t see it, and places the ruined paper back on the desk. Hopefully they won’t be in trouble for that. Their coat and boots are near the door, and it almost makes them cry again to be able to tug on something familiar. The rain boots are bright, another gift, and they stomp in them to make sure they’re on firmly before tugging on their coat, curling their hands in the too long sleeves. It makes them feel better, and they tug gently on the girl’s sleeve to get her attention, flashing her a little thumbs up in encouragement.

     She leads them through the town, stiff legged as they stay close to her. They can hear all the voices, people talking about them but they can’t understand the words, and it makes them nervous. They didn’t do anything, is that the problem? Should they have done something? They’re shaking by the time they and the girl reach a huge building, the girl gently placing a hand on their back and pressing.

     “The door, on the other end. That’s where she’ll be.” They take a deep breath, nodding resolutely as they begin to walk to the door. March, walk with their chin tilted up like Evie always said. ‘ _ Walk like murder. _ ’ Except they don’t want to kill anyone, just want to not be killed. They can already hear Cassandra and someone else yelling before they even reach the door, losing their nerve as they push it open just enough to slip inside. As soon as they’re noticed, the other angry voice - the Chancellor from before - yells.

     “Chain him! I want him prepared for travel to the capital for trial.” D and the knights on either side of them have barely time to react before Cassandra is calling over him.

     “Disregard that, and leave us.” The knights both nod, thumping their hands over their hearts before turning to leave. D’s still standing in the door way, wide eyed at the reception, before one gestures for them to move closer to the table the others are gathered around. They’d wanted to appear confident, but they’ve already tucked their chin into the fabric of the scarf as the Chancellor resumes talking. 

     “You walk a dangerous line, Seeker.”

     “The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat, I will not ignore it.” Cassandra’s voice is hard as steel, and D can’t help but nod with her words. If it’s a danger, it needs to be fixed, and since they can fix it, they shouldn’t leave...right? The Chancellor yells something else, something they tune out as they instead focus on the map spread over the table. Fereldan isn’t a place they know, but there’s a lot of places they don’t know. If there’s already a map made of it, that means they can learn about it though, and at least that prospect makes them excited to stay and help. They’re leaning closer now, reading all the little words written on the paper, trying to remember what places sound like they should go to, where they should avoid. (The Fallow Mire is at the top of that list, they don’t like the sound of it.) They don’t notice Leliana joining the argument, beyond a passing notice of another voice, too busy tilting their head and shifting to look at the rest of the map. Orlais? How’s that pronounced? Or-lies? Or - lays? Ur-lur? They should ask about it, and all the other fancy looking names that take up that side of the map.

     A heavy thump on the table breaks them from their thought, startling a squeak out of them and forcing them to pay attention.

     “You know what this is, Chancellor?” Cassandra doesn’t give him time to respond, voice like a punch to the gut, “This is a writ from the Divine, granting us authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn.” She steps closer to him, poking a gloved finger into his chest, forcing him to backup or maybe be stabbed by that finger.

     “We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order. With or without your approval.” The Chancellor curls his lip, turning to throw a hand out at D.

     “You would gather under the banner of a child too touched to talk, let alone know what he’s doing?”

     “If you think he’s cognizant enough to be tried for the murder of the Divine, then he knows enough to help.” Leliana’s words are sweet sounding, even if they make the man sneer, turning on his heel and leaving the room, slamming the door shut behind him. D doesn’t like him, and takes an extra moment to stick their tongue out at the door before turning back to the adults in the room. Cassandra looks upset, probably with the Chancellor, but Leliana looks….amused. She walks around the table, a hand gently resting on the book Cassandra had thrown down.

     “This is the Divine’s directive: Rebuild the Inquisition of old, find those who will stand against the Chaos. We aren’t ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now, no Chantry support.”

     “But we have no choice, we must act now.” Both of the women look at them then, Cassandra standing firm, Leliana with that knowing smile on her face.

     “Do you understand what we mean?” They nod, curling their hands into fists at their sides, trying to stand up taller.

     “It is regrettable, but we need your help. Will you give it? Will you help us fix this, before it’s too late?” They nod again, even firmer this time, and take Cassandra’s hand when she offers it, shaking it just as firm.

     They will do the best they can to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the support! I'm sorry this chapter and the next are both short, but it felt better that way.  
> Also, I realized after I wrote this that there wasn't any map on the table at this point in the game, but just...imagine with me that they had set it up whilst D was having the mild panic attack.


	3. 43110

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Communication is Important

     It hadn’t taken long for the Inquisition to be underway, the preparations being made quickly. D did their best to stay out of the way, holed up with a book for a few hours, though they _had_ stared at Leliana until she’d shown them her birds. They were pretty birds, ravens, and she’d softly explained that they were trained to know where to go in all of Thedas. She’d given them a book too, one about the old Inquisition. It was filled with words they didn’t understand too well, but most of them they could figure out by context, so it wasn’t too bad to read while Cassandra ordered troops with a man in a cloak and Leliana talked with a woman in a pretty golden dress. It isn’t until after night has begun to fall that Cassandra collects them again, directing them back to that room in the Chantry. She’d explained, in brief, clipped words, that since they had the mark, they should be allowed to at least listen to the decisions involving their life.

     She keeps looking at them, at them looking at the marks on their hand as they walk, and finally asks if it troubles them. They’re not sure if it does, it hurts, but it makes them useful, so they simply shrug. She looks at them for a moment longer before nodding.

     “Solas believes a second attempt at closing the Breach will work with more power, the same amount of power used to open it in the first place. That is not easy to come by.” They shake their head. They know power is hard to come by, but they will, even if it kills them. They have to help these people. She doesn’t continue her thought as she leads them back into that room, now holding Leliana, the lady in the pretty dress, and a man they don’t know, though they’re certain that whatever he’s wearing is the fluffiest thing ever.

     “May I present Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition Forces.” Cassandra gestures to the man and his fuzzy shoulders first, and D gives a little bow in greeting. Cullen returns it before speaking.

     “Such as they are, we lost many soldiers in the valley, and I fear many more before this is through.” He looks sad, but - _resolute_ , that’s the word for him, like he’ll see this all to the end. They don’t get to focus more on him before Cassandra is introducing the Lady.

     “This is Lady Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador and chief diplomat.” She offers them a smile, her board held close to her chest, and D returns a thumbs up in return.

     “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’ve heard much about you. I’ve also brought a gift.” Her voice is bright, sweet, like cherries, and D leans over the table as she slides a board to them.

     “Cassandra has informed me of your affliction, so I figured this would make it much simpler for you to communicate. The quill is enchanted to hold ink for a long while, but feel free to come see me for another or for more paper.” They gently pick up the board, something like a clipboard though it seems like the paper is glued to it instead, and look at her with a look of astonishment. They hadn’t expected anyone to try and help them talk without talking, and they can feel the tears welling up in their eyes already, much to their embarressment. They quickly wipe them away, taking up the paper and quill to scratch out a message, turning it around for her to see.

     ‘ _Thank you :)_ ’ She laughs lightly, either at the words or the smiley face they’ve added at the end, and gives them a sunny smile.

     “You are most welcome.” Cassandra clears her throat, grabbing their attention before jesturing to Leliana.

     “And of course, you know Sister Leliana.” She tilts her head, bits of her red hair falling in her eyes as she addresses them.

     “My position here involves a degree of - ”

     “She is our spy master.” Cassandra quickly cuts her off, earning herself a look of ire.

     “Yes… tactfully put Cassandra.” D quickly takes up their quill, sliding the paper to the middle of the table so all of them could see.

     ‘ _It’s nice to meet you all._ ’ Their greetings are returned quietly before Cassandra cuts back to the heart of the matter.

     “I had mentioned that your mark needs more power to close the Breach for good.”

     “Which means we must approach the rebel mages for help.”

     “And I still disagree, the Templars could serve just as well.”

     “We need _power,_ Commander. Enough magic poured into that mark - ”

     “Might destroy us all. Templars could suppress the Breach, weaken it so - ” D’s head is beginning to hurt, looking back and forth between them as they argue until Josephine speaks. She has a point, they can’t decide who to have help if they can’t get any help at all. The thing is, this Chantry doesn’t like them - them in particular. They scribble fast on the paper, tapping the table to get the other’s attention.

     ‘ _Do they know I’m me? That I’m the one with the mark?_ ’

     “The particulars of who survived the Chantry explosion hasn’t made it too far. All they know is there’s a survivor that claims to be able to seal the Breach.”

     ‘ _That’s good, we shouldn’t let people know it’s me. People wont_ ~~_rispekt_~~ _respect a kid that can’t talk. We should tell them it’s Cassandra, and I can just go with her with gloves so people don’t see that it’s me. People will respect a lady knight that looks like she can fight anything._ ’

     “He… makes a suprisingly good point.” Josephine is smiling slightly as she reads over the words, Cassandra rolling her eyes at being volunteered.

     “How would we go about this then? It would be strange for a Seeker to be traveling with a young child.”

     “Not if he’s her page.” Cullen has one hand at his chin, the other resting idly at the hilt of his sword as he shifts restlessly at the table.

     “Some families will send their child out to be pages before they’re squires or even templars. Even I had a stint as a page before training with the templars, as young as I was. Some families are known to start the third or fourth children out as young as six.”

     ‘ _I’m nine!_ ’ Leliana huffs lightly, maybe a laugh, as she glances at the paper, coming around to the idea, talking lowly with Josephine about cover stories and falsities.

     “No one is asking how I feel about this!” Cassandra is angry, frustrated, and D shrinks back from her a bit before writing out fast why they’d thought of Cassandra, tapping her in the side with the board when they’re done.

     ‘ _We need to fix this, but I can’t do it. No one listens to kids, but you’re strong. You believe in all of this. You can protect me from demons too, you did it before._ ’ and then, further down ‘ _I need to make up for not saving Miss Divine, this would help, right?_ ’ She looks at them, with a complicated emotion, one that they can’t pin down before handing the board back to them and returning to looking disgusted at her companions.

     “Say I do agree to this, what will be the story then? And what about Chancellor Roderick, he knows of the child and would most certainly spread the idea.”

 

     It takes a few hours for them to pin down the story, and by that point, D has fallen asleep leaning against the leg of the table, idle doodles and words covering the page in their lap. Cullen takes them back to the room they’d been waiting in, placing them in bed and leaving the writing board nearby for them to find when they wake up.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, this took forever to update, mostly because DMC ate my brain, along with DnD. ANYWAYS! I'll be posting the next chapter as soon as I finish it, early warning for more misgendering D because next chapter is from other peoples point of views. In better news tho, it won't be as dialogue heavy as this chapter, since it's actually original scenes! None of this scripted crap, since we haven't reached the parts where it will diverge too much from Canon (I'm looking at you, Solas and Cole scenes)  
> Comments feed my soul


	4. Interlude: Advisors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Each of them have found a way to deal with this strange child on their own

_Lady Cassandra Pentagast stepped from the Fade. She had been in the Chantry to provide protection to Her Most Holy and was the only survivor of an unknown assailant._ _A child of a Rivaini merchant and a Fereldan mage left orphaned in the Chantry explosion, he was found just outside the building, having gotten caught by some of the debris of the explosion. Lady Cassandra proceeded to take him in as her ward and her page, the child wanting to devote himself to the Seekers to help protect others from the fate that befell his parents. All reports of the child stepping out of the Rift are the results of a misunderstanding upon seeing Lady Cassandra and them step out of the wreckage, further exasperated by the child sneaking off to follow her to the attempted closing of the Breach. They are eager to please and learn, but are overall a normal child._

Leliana looks over the official story they’d come up with the night before, though this is the original, several other copies having already been distributed to her agents to spread word of, along with others posted around Haven. A few people had tried to argue it, including Roderick, but had been quickly shut down. It was a good idea, one she hadn’t expected a child to have. Especially not the child currently sitting on the floor, cooing softly at one of her Ravens. Though he seemed unable to speak mostly - what he had described as ‘words getting stuck in my chest’ when she'd asked out of curiosity an hour before- he seemed okay with making small sounds, though they’re almost lost under the raven’s chatter. It’s strangely cute, to see him wiggling his fingers at the birds, jerking them back just in time to avoid being bit. If she hadn’t been trained to see the details, she would have thought that his expression had never changed, but for now he seemed more relaxed.

It was little things, a slight curve to his mouth, an easiness to his shoulders, the way his chin wasn’t ducked into that ridiculous blue scarf. It’s easier to read him if you look for the small changes, rather than the dramatic changes one would associate with a child. She lets slip a smile of her own as she folds back up the paper, tucking it away before turning her attention to him.

“D?” He immediately turns his head to her, and she muses that he is a little strange looking. A dark complexion, hair the colour of sand, and eyes that seem to be unable to decide if they’re grey or brown. Still, with his wide eyes and unruly hair, it creates a sweet look about him, like a sheep dog puppy.

“Were you able to read that book I gave you yesterday?” She doesn’t expect him to have, it was thick and she wonders what he’ll say if he hadn’t even started as he looks around for his paper. He quickly finds it and fumbles the pencil Varric had found for him (saying its easier and less fragile than a quill) out of his pocket.

‘ _I finished it this morning! It was kinda hard. some words were wierd but I was able to figure out what they meant._ ’ She raises a brow, steepling her fingers to rest her chin on.

“Really? That fast?”

‘ _I don’t sleep right, and I read really fast. I like to read if I bring back the book, can i borrow another?_ ’ He holds the paper out to her, and she gives him a genuine smile. He’s eager to learn, though she wonders what he means by not sleeping right. Most likely insomnia, if the dark circles under his eyes are to be believed, though she wonders if it’s something else from the way he'd fallen asleep under the war table the night before.

“Of course, I’d be remiss to not encourage you to learn all you can.”

 

It takes all of three days before Leiliana begins to encourage him to take multiple books at a time from different sources, providing their owners were alright with him borrowing them. The child reads startlingly fast, near twice as fast as he writes, and had already consumed two books on the founding of the Chantry, one about Fereldan, another about Thedas, and yet another that was simply a written text on the history of Haven.

Between that, he's always - not underfoot, not exactly, but eager to help, darting around to offer a helping hand or bringing people things he thinks they need. Adan had made the mistake of loaning him a book of useful herbs and so every elfroot he could reach had ended up in the healer’s hand by sundown, and he is not the only person that D has treated this way either. D has such a need to please that Leliana is concerned for where he had truly come from, what sort of place nurtures a need like that. She’d approached the subject twice, the first asking where he had come from and only getting a response in the form of him pointing to the rift, the second time she’d asked what it was called, where he was from. There, she gets a written answer.

‘ _Arcanum._ ’ She looks up the word, something that’s ancient Orlesian of all things, and discovers it means ‘Old Magic.’ It leads her to think that he's not as human as he seems, that he  might truly be a creature from the veil. It’s hard to think of him that way when he’s fallen asleep in the middle of the War Room though, tucked into a little ball under the table, three different books open around them, along with his notepad. Human or magical creature, she knows for sure that he is still just a child.

 

* * *

 

The Inquisition had been active for a week, and the Herald’s party was slated to leave for the Hinterlands to speak with Mother Giselle in another. Josephine feels like she’d gotten rather used to the child’s - to D’s oddities in that week. He didn’t talk, but he writes fast, if not a bit sloppy, and were always eager to ask questions at the War Table. That is, if he hadn’t gotten distracted by something else in the room. He fell asleep at inopportune times, asked if people needed any help near constantly, wore hideous lime green boots made of a strange material, appeared to not sleep through the night and instead read in the wee hours if the amount of burnt down candles and finished books in his room already were to be believed. He adores animals, chewed on leaves but refused to eat anything with mushrooms, and seemingly never changed his expressions. She thought she’d gotten used to his oddities, as well as she could in the span of a week. Still, even with all that, she hadn’t expected to find him hiding under her desk, silently crying, when she came back from speaking with Leliana.

“D? Are you alright?” She’d kneeled on the ground when she’d noticed him (or more accurately, the toes of one of his ridiculous boots) under the desk. He’s curled up, knees to his chest and chin in the divot between them, fat tears rolling down his face. He’s still straight faced, besides the smallest of pouts and the puffiness that accompanies a hearty cry, and she’s reaching for him before she even realizes it, memories of comforting a much younger Yvette crowding into her mind. She doesn’t expect him to let her hug them, but she can’t stop the disappointment when he simply hides his face in his knees instead of coming to her.

“That’s okay, it’s okay. You can come out whenever you like.” She keeps her voice soft, like her mother had done for her and her siblings when they were scared, pulling down some paper to idly write while she waits for him, making herself comfortable on the floor. She’s not sure how long it’s been, just that it’s been long enough that she’s started to ache in her joints, when he comes out, leaning against her side. She cautiously places an arm around him, resting a hand in his hair, idly toying with the curls as she finishes what she was doing. She doesn’t want him to feel like he’s interrupted her, which he’d already apologized for profusely the few times he had, or thought he had. Given his earlier skittishness, she’s surprised when he relaxes into the touch, leaning against her more firmly as he sniffles and scrubs at his face with a dirty sleeve. She waits a couple minutes more before placing down her own pen and turning to look at him.

“So, what has got you so upset?” Josephine keeps her voice light and sweet, the same inflection she’d use to learn of a noble that was in a snit about something. He doesn’t speak, to no one’s surprise, just sniffle before looking up at her and gesturing to his neck. That had been another quirk of his, never going without his scarf, a deep blue thing that he held a terrible fondness for. Except now, his neck was bare, over large shirt dipping down to show skin and the hint of what looked like a burn scar on their chest, reaching up towards their collar bone.

“Your scarf, of course, how could I not notice. Did you misplace it?” He shakes his head vigorously, nearly knocking into her chin, turning big puppy eyes at her before reaching for her papers. She relinquishes them easily, handing him the pen as well and letting him write down what he needs to say.

‘ _I was asleep and then when i woke up it was gone and i looked everywhere but it was gone i think someone stoll it but why would someone steel it its just a scarf but its a scarf ari gave me and its spe_ _sh_ _cial because ari gave it to me and its all i have of them so why would someone steel it???????_ ’ She reads over the hastily written words thrice, having issues reading through the shakes and loops of the frantic script.

“Would you like to take a walk around Haven with me? Perhaps we will be able to locate your missing scarf, and while we look, you can borrow one of mine. I have a lovely green one that is soft as a dream. It was a gift from my younger sister.” She doesn’t know if he will accept either the offer of help or the return of a gift , but she can at least offer comfort to the child as best she can.

 

He does opt to walk with her, to borrow the silk scarf, nervously rubbing at it when they begin to look around for his. It doesn’t take long before they find it with Seggrit, who was trying to sell it for a pretty penny. The merchant doesn’t even bother to hide it as they come up to him, just smiles slyly as they approach.

“Lady Josephine, my sincerest apologies. I simply stumbled upon this blue scarf and thought it would add a lovely boost to Inquisition coffers. I hadn’t realized it belonged to the little Seeker.” He says all of this with a silver tongue, though he obviously knew it was D’s, the child always wore it and no one else had a scarf of such a rich blue hue. Josephine knows how to play the game better than this glib liar though, smiling sweetly as she can whilst taking the scarf off the table and pretending to inspect it for damages.

“A true accident, it happens to us all. I wonder what would have been Lady Cassandra’s reaction to find the young Ser’s prized possession for sale. She’s most fond of him, as you must know. Why, if he’d run to her crying as he had, I’m sure she would have been on an absolute war path.” Handing the scarf to D, she turns her full attention on the merchant, internally crowing at the way his face has blanched. “Thank you so much for finding it though, he was truly upset.”

“It is no trouble at all! Have some of these sweets I had found as well as an apology.” Seggrit is hasty to heap the sweets upon Josephine, D clutching his scarf and actually leveling what she thinks must be his version of a glare at the merchant, a little pout and brows lowered. She waits until they’re far enough away from the merchant before she giggles and crouches down to D’s eye level, smiling at him as he clutches the scarf to his chest.

“There, we got your scarf back and a nice snack. How about we share these with the other advisors?” He nods, tucking his face against his scarf for a brief second before jolting forwards, wrapping an arm around her in an awkward hug. She doesn’t get the chance to return it before he’s lept back, face buried in the scarf again, and she laughs softly.

“Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

“Put your feet further apart.” D is a good student in that he listens to the commands Cullen gives them as he practices with a knife large enough that it may as well be a sword in his hands. He’s a _terrible_ student in that he either gets distracted by some inane thing or panics that he’s hurt someone. That last one is ridiculous, he’s as ferocious as a toothless nug, but he wanted to learn how to defend himself, and he doesn’t have the strength to properly wield a bow.

“Alright, now, like we’ve practiced.” D nods before turning his eyes to the training dummy and do what he’s done four times already today. He hits it with a decent enough form for a child, but far _far_ too light. Cullen groans, marching over to where he’s looking as if the minimal marks on the dummy is a puzzle to be worked out. This can’t be allowed to go on if they’re to set out to close rifts in the Hinterlands in three days.

“Alright. This is not working out, you’ve gotten the form down well enough, but you need to put more _force_ into your hits. As of now, you wouldn’t be able to stop a Fennec rolling down a hill. Look - ” He sighs, rubbing at his forehead as he leans over to speak to them easier.

“Josephine mentioned someone important to you. An... Ari?” He waits until D has looked up at him and nodded, his attention now fully on the commander at the mention of this ‘Ari.’

“Imagine that the dummy is going to hurt Ari, and that you must protect them, alright? Now, try again.” He steps back, enough to give the child room and watches as his brows furrow, looking between the dummy and the blade before sliding back into a starting position. He hits it harder this time, enough to knock a few bits of hay out of the ragged edges, both Cullen and D themself suprised at the force of the hit.

“Good! Again.”

 

They train harder for the rest of that day, D sweating hard enough that he actually takes off his scarf, wrapping it around his waist instead as they go through the drills again, round face red with exertion. Cullen keeps an eye on both him and his own soldiers, Cassandra helping him by overseeing the soldiers training, and eventually calls D to a stop, keen eyes catching the way his hands shake on the hilt of the blade. D stops, panting, and looks between Cullen and the dummy before tossing the knife aside and simply throwing himself down into the snow, face first. Cullen panics, immediately dropping to his knees by his side, frantically rolling him over to check for injuries. He’s used to training Templars, has been told he’s too rough on even the adult farmers that have begun to join them, he’s unsure of how hard to run this child. He’s near certain that he’s hurt him, run him to exhaustion and the kid is just too stubborn to quit. He rolls over easily enough, squinting up at the commander with a pout, looking offended that he’d dared to roll him and save him from suffocating in the snow. As soon as he removes his hands from him, he rolls back into the snow and Cullen sighs, leaning back on his heels.

“You like the snow then?” He gets a muffled noise for his questioning, and groans softly as he gets up to help Cassandra finish off the troops training. Fifteen minutes later, D is still laying there, though he’s rolled onto his back and seems to be sleeping in the snow. He wonders if this child is more trouble than he’s worth as he sits back in the snow next to them. Wonders if they shouldn’t just make him Tranquil, since Solas said the mark doesn’t run on normal magic and quickly shakes the thought from his head. That’s Kirkwall Templar type of thinking, the thoughts of a man who he isn’t any longer. Besides, it’s hard to think that way as he scoops the child up out of the snow, especially as they turn into his warmth, gloved hands blindly reaching for his cloak as they mutter out a name in a voice rarer than diamond dust and dragon scales.

He wonders if this Ari had ever done something just like this, carried them from where he’d fallen asleep into a bed, if that’s why he murmurs their name in his sleep. He hopes that it’s true, that he’d known a form of love before this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, this chapter would have been up sooner if I didn't have to go back and edit D's pronouns in it. Since it's no longer from their point of view, the others are using what they think are the right pronouns for them. TBH that bit isn't going to get cleared up until someone can get into their head, because it's not like they're gonna kick up a fuss about it lmao  
> ANYWAYS!! IF YOU LIKED THIS, COMMENT, KUDOS, WHAT HAVE YOU  
> COME TALK TO ME @PSIDONTKNOW ON TWITTER ABOUT D AND MY ETERNAL LOVE OF SEVERAL DA CHARACTERS *coughColeandHawkecough*


	5. What Breed is He?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little boy

     The ride to the Hinterlands camp is long and bumpy, D and Varric both riding in the back of a wagon carrying supplies to their camp. D is focusing on adjusting to writing and reading both with the thick gloves they have to wear to hide the mark, scribbling a diary of sorts into one of the travel journals Josephine had given them, along with better boots for hiking and a satchel to keep the journals and potions in. They don’t pay too much attention to the surrounding snow and rocks, nothing they haven’t seen most of everyday for the past two weeks. Once they make it out of the mountains though, they’re distracted by all of the greenery, all of the birds and wilderness and boundless nature. It prompts them into leaning out of the wagon to collect leaves, to let the dew coat their hand until they’re pulled back in by Varric and jokingly advised to put back on their glove before they got caught ‘green handed’.

     The Town had been snowy, like Haven, but the hills and valleys of the Hinterlands are lush and green, the burst of colour a shock to their system. Even the Gardens Evie kept hadn’t been like this, cut and maintained to approval, but this is full and wild, and they want nothing more to explore every part of it. They’re tempted to run off as soon as they get to the camp, only stopped by Cassandra’s hand clamping down on their shoulder to stop them as a Dwarven woman comes up to report to her. They quickly wiggle out of the Seeker’s grasp, not liking the way the touch makes their skin prickle under their riding coat, and try to pay attention to what the other lady is saying.

     Her name is Scout Harding, and Varric makes a joke that neither they nor she get, before she talks about a guy and his horses. They get a little too excited at the prospect of actually riding a horse out in the sunshine and tune out part of what she’s saying next, something about Mages and Templars, Mother being at the Crossroads, and they only tune in enough for her to advise Cassandra to get going. She turns on her heel to leave before stopping and looking curiously at them.

     “If - If you’re concerned about your Page in all this fighting, you’re more than welcome to leave him here, he's welcome anytime.” Cassandra looks at her in a way D can't place, both of them silent before she nods. 

     “I will keep that in mind…. Thank you. “

 

     The walk to the Crossroads is mostly silent, their small group ducking around fighting, the only other people they see being corpses on the side of the road. D offers up a quick mental ‘I’m Sorry’ for not being able to help them, hoping they can ask Cassandra if there’s a way to get people to come back and bury these people, or to at least make sure that everyone’s name is taken down. Hopefully, they’ll finally find the peace they couldn’t find in life wherever their mind goes after death.

     Mother Giselle is not what they’re expecting when they all meet her. She doesn’t care about the difference between Mages and Normal people, her accent like cinnamon and almonds, and she speaks gently as D stands behind Cassandra, peaking around her hip to watch as the woman speaks. They follow her and Cassandra as they walk and talk, leaving behind Solas and Varric as they do. She makes sense, to try and talk to the Chantry first, though Cassandra is wary of it. She’s gentle and kind, and D takes a shine to her because of it. She feels like a leader, but one who leads via being convincing and kind, not by being ruthless. 

     “I have heard about your little one here, but I still expected him to be...older.” She finally turns her attention to them, business talk done with, and D leans a little further behind Cassandra. They don’t notice the blush upon the Seeker’s face at them being called hers, but do try to look Mother Giselle in the eye after a moment of hiding. It’s polite, that’s what they’d been told, and she gives them a smile that they return with a wave.

     “It takes true courage for one to see the kind of destruction the both of you have, and to still want to Champion for the people. May Andraste guide you both.”

 

     Cassandra and the others don’t seem to notice them slipping off as they regroup to discuss what Mother Giselle had told her. There’s a lot of people around the Crossroads, but there’s even more plants, and they pull out the book of herbs that Adan had given them from their satchel, quickly collecting some of the easier ones to recognize. They also stopped to pick up a few things from the ground that they liked, shiny rocks and bits of armour, a fun shaped leaf, a weird looking flower. Of course, they soon run out of things to collect, and then begins the real fun. Their herbs book is traded out for their journal, to a marked page that they’d carefully penned on the way to the Hinterlands.

     ‘ _ I’m Lady Cassandra’s page, we’re with the Inquisition, is there any way I can help? _ ’ The words are large and neat, taking up the whole page so that they’re easy to read, and D begins to make the rounds, writing down things to do. People are cold and need blankets, they need food, and they want them to try and get food, this man’s wife needs medicine. The list goes on until Cassandra finds them listening to a wounded man, raging on and on about the fighting between the Templars and the Mages, D simply nodding sagely, because this guy seems to need to talk.

     “Where have you  _ been?! _ ” Cassandra hisses at them as soon as she’s pried them away from the man, her eyes furious as they shrink back. They hadn’t meant to make her mad, but they’d wanted to help. They open their mouth to say that before the words get stuck, only coming out as a pathetic wheeze and they instead show her the Journal, the lists of names and requests and places, how to fill them, how to help people, and she reads all of it with a furrowed brow. They shift nervously as she reads, clenching and unclenching their hands in the fabric of their scarf until she thrusts the Journal back at them.

     “Fine, you are excused  _ this _ time. The next time you want to run off and play gofer, let me know beforehand.” 

 

     They retrieve the medicine, D hides behind Cassandra and closes a rift to fool the people watching, and collect some goat meat. They run errands and help people, close more rifts and set up more camps, but most importantly? D gets to ride a horse.

     The horse guy (D’s already forgotten his name) had loaned them each one of his horses, but no more than that until they do more errands for him. That makes sense, it’s a lot of horses, a lot of work for each of them to be equipped. D let Cassandra handle the logistics of that while they walk through the stables. They’d been told that they could pick out which horse they wanted to ride, since they’d been given the gist of how to ride in Haven with Cullen on his horse. It didn’t hurt that they would be riding along with the others. They walked through, looking at each horse, trying not to mind the smell too much. Strangely, the smell changed at the end of the stalls, where there were two empty, and then a final horse all alone. There wasn’t a sign with this one’s name on it, though it’s head was leaning over the stall doors like the others. It wasn’t soft and fuzzy like the others either, but when D put their hand out, it still nuzzled up to them. They liked the look of this horse, smaller, hairless with hard skin that wouldn’t be hurt as easily by others. D keeps petting the horse, long slow swipes down it’s nose like they’d been told before leaning close.

     “Imma call ya Mossy.” They whisper like its a secret, smiling when the horse makes a noise to that, like it agrees with the name. D keeps petting the horse until Varric and the Horse guy walks down to them.

     “Hey Peanut, you find a horrrrrwwwwwhat in the name of Andraste’s left ass cheek is  _ that _ ?” Varric is taken aback by the horse still nuzzling into D’s cheek, looking for more of the carrot pieces they’d snuck into their pockets for this reason. They make a gesture, trying to convey ‘it’s a horse, duh.’ without words. Varric doesn’t seem to notice that though, stepping closer slowly, hands up as if their horse is going to attack him.

     “Why don’t you just back away from the uh - the hellspawn.”

     “It’s a Dracolisk.” The horse guy finally speaks up, still looking shocked at D and Mossy. “They’re ridable, but I was planning on selling this one. We came upon it by happenstance...” D frowns, digging into their satchel for their paper, huffing as Mossy’s nose tickles their cheek. They finally pull it out, scribbling fast and thrusting it at Varric.

     ‘ _ It’s a horse, his name is Mossy and he’s mine now. I get to pick out a horse, and this one is mine. _ ’ Varric and the horse guy both look over the paper, Varric laughing a bit and running a hand over his hair.

     “Well...kid’s right, kinda.”

 

     D is allowed to take Mossy outside, just to see if they can ride him. The horse guy - who’s name is apparently Dennet, who knew? -  says that they can have him if they can ride him without getting kicked off. They don’t see why Mossy would kick them off, only jittery horses do that and Mossy isn’t. He’s relatively calm as Cassandra talks D through putting on the saddle and tack, standing back. She’d said that if D wanted to keep their own horse, they had to learn to take care of it on their own even before they’d brought out Mossy. Now though, she wants to stay far away from the greenish horse. Once they have Mossy all settled, they lead him over to a box so they can clamber on top of it, and then, from there, onto the saddle. It takes a few minutes, but they manage to get him into a trot, doing a neat little circle around the area. They’re more concerned about sliding out of the saddle than about being kicked off.

     Satisfied, they circle the horse back around to Dennet and Cassandra, giving them a thumbs up. After that, it’s more of Cassandra, Varric, and even Solas, asking if they’re sure they want Mossy (which is met with so many nods that they’re dizzy in the aftermath) and then Dennet talking them through what they need to do to take care of him. They find out that Mossy is a ‘Dracolisk’ which is apparently a special kind of horse, or something like that, one that needs meat and can’t get too cold. They quickly ask Cassandra if it would be possible to get extra blankets for Mossy, and then tell Dennet that they can absolutely take care of Mossy. They’re told how to help them get cleaned, and how to care for his horns when they regrow, and are finally given a book on Dracolisks.

     Best day ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *D voice* If a Pomeranian and a Borzoi are the same thing, why cant Mossy be a horse?
> 
> I'm actually really nervous about posting the next chapter, because not only is it not exactly a thing that happens in canon, it deals with some serious themes, and Solas gets a big dad vibe for a bit. IDK, might skip it, may not. If I don't, it will have a content warning at the beginning of the chapter, since it has to deal with D's past and thats.... ehhhhhhhhhhh


	6. Propaganda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Propaganda! Prop - Propaganda! (I get the the feeling I'm not alone)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for this chapter: Explicit descriptions of panic attacks, vaguely implied child abuse and self harm  
> Please be safe, if these things will bother you, I will leave a TLDR in the bottom notes
> 
> Also, I've given up on keeping D's pronouns consistent for any view other than their own.

     They return to Haven, to regroup, and D immediately dives into caring for Mossy, getting the Dracolisk a stall of his own and beginning to go get his food. Even though they hadn’t been able to ride him back (he’d instead been tied to a lead while D rode in the wagon again), they were still going to take care of him like they had, to prepare for when they’re good enough at riding to do so. He’d read the book twice over on the ride back to Haven, and realized that Dracolisks aren’t just funky horses, but something like a baby dragon mixed with a horse. Still, Mossy is their’s, and they’re going to take good care of the tiny dragon. They fill up the stall with hay and cover him in blankets, fill up the big bucket looking thing with water and then an actual bucket with left over stew. The book had said that Dracolisks mainly eat meat, but they’re able to digest vegetables too, so the cold beef stew should be okay for him to eat. After all of that, they’re tired, but still find a cloth to gently pat the extra dirt off of Mossy. Dracolisk scales secrete a kind of weird oil that helps keep them all nice and clean, so they can’t scrub, but a little help with the big bits is okay. They finish off by wiping down their saddle, hefting it up to put it away, even though it knocks them backwards into the snow twice. They’re sore and tired and just kinda want to go lay down and take a nap, but they’re still supposed to go to the War Room, to discuss what Mother Giselle had told them. 

     After giving Mossy one last pat, they begin to make their way to the War Room, stopping briefly to throw themself in a clean patch of snow to cool down. As they get closer to the Chantry, they begin to hear raised voices, arguing and yelling something. They quickly duck behind the little stone wall, peaking over the top to watch as Cassandra and Cullen both argue with the mean Cleric from before. The three are arguing about Mages and Templars again, a crowd around them murmuring discontentedly. It sounds far too much like their original world for their comfort and a weird feeling grows in their chest at it. They continue to hide until the yelling tapers off and everyone else leaves, quietly following Cassandra inside.

     Despite having nothing to say about the trip to Val Royeaux, they still follow the others into the War Room, hiding under the table and thinking. It’s finally begun to sink in, everything that’s going on around them, the weight placed upon their shoulders, and they hunch into a ball, hands covering their ears. What have they gotten themself into? They think about those dead people, left on the side of the road, about the fallen soldiers, the people with no home, those left messed up from both demons and other people. They want to help, they want to help, they want to  _ help.  _ It’s scary though, the thought of everything still being the same, even in a new world with new names, except now, they’re expected to make things better when they never had been able to before. Unbidden, memories rise to the surface and they silently plead for them to go away, back to wherever they went before, they don’t want to know how they got the scar on their chest, don’t want to know the smell of burning hair, they don’t want -  _ don’t want - don’t -  _

     A hand lands on their shoulder and they gasp, a streak of lightning shooting from them, and the hand quickly retreats. They don’t bother trying to run, there’s not going to be another Rift, not another way to find their way back to where they could hide from the memories in Ari’s cloak and magic. They just curl up tighter, hands clasped over their head, face buried in their knees as their faulty magic sparks around them. It’s all wrong, it’s all the same, and they’re still not doing enough to stop it because they can’t work right for long enough to do it right.

* * *

     Solas is dumbfounded at the sight before him. Cassandra had sent for him, explained that during a meeting about Val Royeaux, all of the advisors had just assumed D had fallen asleep, as he tends to do, but then when the others left, she’d crouched under the table to gather them only for them to be sparking and unresponsive. She’d claimed she sent for him, thinking that it was something to do with the mark on their hand but this - this isn’t that. He can see the faint glow and crackle of green fade magic around their hand, yes, but the rest of them sparks with blue, closer to the glow of Ice Magic, though the static in the air and the residual buzzing of where they’d clipped his hand says it’s Lighting. 

     He can’t do anything but watch them as their magic run rampant, crackling around their little form as they sob and gasp, pathetic little whines barely audible over the rasping quickness of their breath. He’d been able to sense magic in them, but not a connection to the Fade through it on that first night, and had just assumed that they were a late bloomer, that they’d grow into being a mage later. Had assured himself of this, that he was just seeing blue mixed in with the green as they sealed rifts, that the smell of Ozone that hung around them was his imagination, but this is the truth. They’re a mage from another side of the Rift without a connection to it, one that has seen nothing but other mages slaughtered and persecuted since he’d came to their realm, and was now in the middle of a panic attack.

     Solas steels his resolve, quickly standing and opening the door to explain to Cassandra that the child was having an attack, and that he was going to have to work on healing the mark again. It’s a lie, but it gets her to nod and stand guard outside the room, even as he closes and locks the door. He takes an extra moment to take a deep breath, to mentally prepare himself for what he was about to do, before casting a barrier spell on himself and crouching back under the table.

     “D? It is Solas, I need you to come out from under here.” He tries to keep his voice low and soothing, but it doesn’t stop their magic from lashing out, the crackles of lightning growing larger, enough to singe off his eyebrows if he hadn’t had the foresight of the barrier spell. He moves slowly towards them before quickly grabbing them about the middle to drag them from under the table.

     “ _ NO!! NONONONONO!! _ ” They shriek frantically, magic growing wild as they flail, scratching at Solas’s hands as he holds the child tight. They howl wordlessly when he grabs their hands, pressing them against their own chest, though he quickly changes tactics to pinning their arms to their sides when lightning begins to burn both his hands and through their shirt. It takes just one arm to pin their arms and hold them tight, they’re so small, and he uses his other hand to cover their eyes, murmuring softly in their eyes.

     “Be calm, you are safe here, it is alright. Please calm yourself, I do not wish for you to hurt yourself.” He keeps shushing them gently, holding them as they wind down, sparks only mere static and their little body going limp, though they’re still noisily sobbing. Solas cautiously loosens his grip on them, taking his hand off of their eyes and adjusting them to lean comfortably against him. They’re trembling like a leaf, still not reacting to anything he says, though it is now mostly soft nothings in Elvhen, and he realizes they’ve stopped fighting not because they’ve come out of the attack, but because they’ve simply run out of energy to fight back. He knows Cassandra is outside the door, anxious and angry, is near certain that either Josephine or Varric have found their way with her, staring at the door, but he must find the root of this problem. He takes a deep breath, murmuring another apology before he does as he must and sends them both to sleep.

 

     D’s dreams are not like that of other children, colourful and bright. It is, instead, nearly monochrome, covered in snow, dead and blackened trees stretching over a cobblestone path, small pale flowers sprouting from between the stones and up through the snow. He doesn’t have time to take it in though, not with D standing in the middle of it, screaming. It’s not wordless this time, not aimless, though they’re still sobbing as they cup their hands around their mouth and yell.

     “ARI!! EVIE!!! PLEASE!!!  _ ARI!! _ ” Solas lets the snow beneath his feet crunch, trying not to wince at the way the child quickly spins around, hope bright before it dies out the blink of an eye. The child sinks to their knees in the snow, clutching their head, fingers tugging at curls.

     “Why is it you? I don’t want - I don’t want this world anymore! I want to go back with Ari, I want Evie - I just - ” They let out another heartbreaking sob as Solas crouches in front of them, gently settling a hand on his shoulder. They lean forwards, forehead against Solas’s shoulder and let the elf rub their back gently as they sob.

     “Even in a dream, it’s still this place, it’s still you people. Why can’t I just have Ari back? I don’t want your world anymore.” 

     “How do you know it’s a dream? Most people do not when I do this.” He tries not to be hurt by the fact the child keeps rejecting him, tucking it away with every other pain in his chest, a pain that soon becomes literal as D shoves him over, scrambling back from him.

     “You - you’re the real Solas and you did this on purpose! Why did you! I don’t want you in my dreams too, all of this - these mages and normal people fighting, I’m done with it! It’s the same no matter where I go! If you can control my dreams, bring me Ari! Let them make me forget again.” He’s surprised the child caught his slip so easily, even more surprised by the feral little snarl on their face. He’d expected them to be able to talk more clearly in a dream, but he hadn’t quite expected this level of raw emotion from them.

     “Da’len - ”

     “No!! Stop it with your - your weird made up languages and your stupid Templars and Apostates and whatever else you all keep throwing at me! I can’t do it! I can’t help it enough because I’m just one small stupid kid who can’t even talk right!” It suddenly hits Solas what set them off, he’d heard the fight between the three outside the Chantry, and then the argument about having to face the actual Chantry. D had been keeping this bottled up, had been hiding his magic since he woke up and realized that they weren’t accepted. He quickly pulls them into a hug, giving no mind to the fact that they’re scratching and hissing at him like a feral cat once again.

     “You are just one child, but you’re helping immensely. We wouldn’t be able to do anything without you. You are so very brave, and I promise, I will try and find a way to help you go wherever you wish to once this is over. Please, hold on a bit longer. Until then, you can share your burdens with us.” D stops clawing at him with the intent to hurt, instead curls their small fingers into his shirt and gripping at him desperately, the child breaking down into sobs. He comforts them again, humming an old lullaby until they calm down, taking deep breaths only occasionally interrupted by hiccups.

     “Solas?” Their voice is small and quiet, closer to how he’d initially imagined their voice would sound in the waking world.

     “Yes?” 

     “I’m sorry I hit you. And yelled at you. And said those mean things.Your language isn’t weird, I want to learn it if you wanna teach me it.” He laughs softly, still running a hand up and down their spine.

     “It is quite alright, you were distressed and upset. I have heard much worse from people who actually mean it. I can teach you Elvhen and it’s stories if you still wish upon waking. But for now, would you please explain what happened in the war room?” He can feel the way they shrug before wiping their nose on his shirt and thanks every deity he can think of that this is a dream.

     “It’s just - It’s still the same as where I came from. Mages and Normal people fighting because no one wants to get along. It’s always the same, and that means that I can’t help here either. I - ” They take a deep, hiccuping breath, clutching tighter at Solas. “I opened a Rift in my world too, on accident. They wanted to see if they could make people with only a little magic have a lot, but it went wrong and everything overflowed...I don’t remember what happened well, but I - something was burning, and I was running - and then I woke up with Ari and it was quiet and nice, but I had to leave… I don’t want to mess up like that again.” Solas doesn’t follow what they mean, but he knows, oh  _ stars  _ does he know the feeling of not wanting to repeat past mistakes. It somehow makes it worse that this is a child that feels this way, and he wants to erase all of this from their mind somehow. He holds them a bit tighter, resting his cheek upon their curls.

     “It will be okay, you’re not alone here. Even if you falter, we will help you.”

 

     He’s sure only a few minutes have passed in the waking world, since Cassandra hasn’t plowed through the door and his leg isn’t quite completely numb where D lays on it. The child had calmed down quick enough after being allowed to vent and he’s content to let them sleep, a hand resting in their hair as he hears the familiar noises of a pick scraping against tumblrs and Varric and Cassandra both walk into the room, stopping to observe the destruction, the bleeding scratches down Solas’s face and hands, along with the small burn marks. There’s scorch marks all over, the pawns on the table knocked over and papers scattered all over and Solas smiles wryly as Cassandra rounds on him and snarls - 

     “What did you do to him?!”

     “Seeker - ”

     “None of this was my doing. The child was having a panic and the overflow of their emotions caused their mark to react negatively.” Both of them stare at him, at the sleeping child, before Varric sighs and ruffles his own hair.

     “Alright, say we believe that. What happened to your face then?”

     “Ah...I was afraid of them harming themself, but it seems they were so deep into the panic that they couldn’t recognize me as anything other than a threat. I ended up having to cast a sleeping spell on them.” He’s telling half truths by measure, unsure if the child wants the fact they’re a mage to be well known, as well as Solas unwilling to let others know he’s a Dreamer quite yet. He lets Cassandra take the child, rubbing out the soreness in his leg as she lifts them, holding them close, like something precious.

     “I would advise letting them sleep. Terror like that wears an adult out, let alone a child.” He grunts softly as he stands, internally cursing his old bones, and leaves before Cassandra can argue with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TL;DR: D's original home was also experiencing a magic/non magic war and they have some issues pertaining to that (calling non mages "Normal People") and they themself are also a mage. Solas feels a deep regret for reasons and such.
> 
> SO this chapter is a fucking DOOZY and I was so concerned about whether or not to post it, but I started writing this fic as an excersize to A) write D before I begin on their actual story being written and B) finish something, so fuck it, yall got this. D being a mage isn't out of left field, they have mildly expressed discomfort whenever magic has been brought up, but they're very mild. This is a canon point of contention for them, as they're a "faulty" mage and don't have a good control over their magic (which is based in Electricity) I'm also sorry for the OOC-ness of Solas here, I couldn't figure out a way to make him more incharacter, so this is what I'm dubbing "Uncanny Valley Solas" He's almost canon, but....woomy.
> 
> Please remember that people experience panic attacks differently and at different levels, but also D is dissassociating heavily here, they have so many issues, and also it was jacked up to 11 for reading purposes.  
> Next up, Val Royeaux and one step closer to morally ambiguous son bonding time  
> Please be safe readers!


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